Ninety Miles to Cuba
by Fleur27
Summary: Written to try to satisfy lovesrogue36’s prompt at leveragekink on LJ: ‘Nate/Sophie, fugitives on the run.’ May contain spoilers for entire series, set four months after 215.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Written to try to satisfy lovesrogue36's prompt at leveragekink: 'Nate/Sophie, fugitives on the run.' Part one of three.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing here and am just doing this for fun and to pass the time until Season 3.

* * *

Nate sits in the holding cell, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and hands folded together. After months in the scratchy prison jumpsuit, it feels comforting to wear his own clothes, even if the suit doesn't fit quite right anymore. He figures that he can count on one hand the number of times he'll get to wear his suit: this prelim, the actual trial, the sentencing. Then, it'll probably be fifteen to twenty years of prison clothes.

The last four months have given him plenty of time to think, and he's become philosophical about many things. Like Sterling, whom he knows Eliot would like to leave toothless and bleeding on the side of the road. Sterling, who took Nate's State's evidence and made promises regarding a future plea bargain, only to promptly deliver him to a buddy in the Massachusetts DA office the second that Nate outlived his usefulness.

His father used to say that you can't blame a scorpion for acting like a scorpion. And Nate accepts that, in a way that he was never able to accept such things before. What's in your nature is in your nature, as plain and unalterable as your eye color or your blood type. Nate's done fighting his nature and is ready to accept the consequences, whatever those may be.

He wants to plead guilty, but his court-appointed attorney has advised against it. Sophie has offered several times to get him a "real" lawyer, but he likes the public defender, a fresh-faced farm boy from Iowa who paid his way through law school by working as a bartender. Nate's willing to plead not guilty, just to give the kid a chance to go to trial. In three years, the kid's only tried a handful of cases, since most of his clients plead out on deals.

The door buzzes open and Nate stands up to greet the guards. He's unfailingly polite to these men, a courtesy that earned him a good bit of suspicion before they realized that he wasn't just taking the piss. Nate respects anyone who puts in an honest day's work.

Stepping into the courtroom, he looks around for his team and is surprised when the only familiar face he sees is Sterling, smiling smugly from the row behind the defense table. Nate shakes his lawyer's hand and sits down at a slight angle, so he can keep an eye on the door, wishing that he could will his team to walk in before the hearing starts.

"They're gone, Nate. Scattered. Guess they suspected you might grass them out, since you've given up everything you had on Kadjic and Culpepper, but are still in hot water," says Sterling.

Nate can hear the smirk in his voice, can feel him leaning forward, and he has to curl his fingers over the edge of his seat to keep himself from forming a fist. It's what Sterling wants: to rattle him, to make him do something stupid. Nate turns it into a game in his head, determined to score a few points against the man who used to be a colleague.

Nate lets his eyes sweep over the courtroom one last time and feels a little uneasy as he spots one, two, three, four Asian faces, each belonging to a man more burly and dangerous looking than the next. They're scattered in different quadrants of the gallery, each sitting on an aisle, like strategically placed chess pieces. The uneasy feeling escalates toward panic as Nate puts a hand on his lawyer's arm and tries to find the words to explain that they're in danger.

Before he can say anything, the men make their move, hard and fast, taking out guards. Nate sees one of them bury a cleaver in the table in front of him before grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling him up out of seat. He tries to struggle but the guy punches him in the chest and follows it up with a left hook to Nate's eye. Breathless and seeing stars, Nate bonelessly allows the guy to drag him to the middle of the courtroom.

The guards are in an unconscious heap on the floor and the attackers, whom Nate can only assume are triads, have their guns. Most of the spectators are on the ground, waiting for the storm to pass, but Sterling has his hands up and is practically whistling as he strolls over to the biggest guy.

"Nice try, but you know there's no way out of this one. What say we make a nice little deal, you hand him over and we'll let you go on your way?"

Through his good eye, Nate watches the guy consider the deal for a flicker of a second. Then he smiles, cold-blooded and mean, before cold-cocking Sterling with a stolen pistol. Nate's eye traces the trajectory of two pearly white teeth as they arc through the air and land on the tile floor with soft pings.

The guy takes out Sterling's leg with a kick that's nearly as lazy as it is graceful, then follows-up with couple of vicious kicks to the ribs. Nate has to wonder for a moment if the sounds he's hearing are actually broken bones or just wishful thinking.

The guy nearest to the large window behind the jury box shoots it out and climbs up and out onto a roof just as a helicopter lands. Nate is roughly pushed over toward the window and dragged up and out of it, then hauled to the helicopter.

They put a black burlap bag over his head, which Nate thinks is rather like closing the barn door after the horses, since he's already seen their faces. But then something sharp and cold jabs his arm and his world goes black and silent.

---//---

Nate opens his eyes, panicking with the idea that he's gone blind, before he realizes that it's just the burlap bag. His hands are cuffed together with a zip tie, as are his feet, but his arms are unrestrained. He can feel something across his lap and drags his hands back, feeling a belt. A little more scrabbling around and he can feel smooth leather.

It's got to be an airplane seat and he's guessing that he's not traveling coach. Cleavers and private jets, it's all pointing to the triads, but he's still not entirely sure why he's alive. He's also not sure it's an entirely good thing, given what they might have planned for him on the other end.

The gears in his head grind slowly, trying to churn out a plan. He hears a few sharp, guttural words and then a rough hand grabs his arm. Another jab sends him back to the cold and the dark and the silence.

---//---

Nate feels like he's underwater, deep underwater, but unable to surface. He kicks his way toward the light, but something's pulling him down. He thrashes and fights, but it's useless.

A cool, soft touch soothes his forehead and words fall into his ears, but he can't make sense of them, even though the voice and language are familiar. He surrenders, falling back into the dark, wrapping it around him like a comforter.

---//---

When Nate finally regains his consciousness, it feels a lot like waking up from a bender, only much more confusing. He feels residual panic, but can't understand why until the events in the courtroom come back to him in vivid snapshots. The cleaver. The punches. Sterling's teeth landing on the floor. The helicopter. The jabs.

His eyelids feel heavy and he's not ready to open them. So he pretends to still be unconscious as he tries to gather as much information as he can using his other senses.

The first thing he registers is that he's not restrained. Not his hands or his feet. Not his arms or his legs. He's also not wearing his pants, jacket or socks. He does still have on his button-down oxford and his boxers. His tie is a question he can't answer because he can't feel it and doesn't want to look for it just yet.

He's on a bed, a comfortable one, and for that, he can be thankful. It's also soft and clean, with crisp cotton bedding. He moves one finger over the bedspread and can feel a pattern there, embroidery, which makes him wonder what sort of safe house the triads are running, with their fancy soft furnishings.

His mind is punchy, wanting to take the joke and run with it. Queer Eye for the Vicious Guy, Interiors Edition. One corner of his mouth twitches in an involuntary smile before he can pull himself back on point. He needs to listen. And to think.

He can hear birds. And a regular rhythmic whir that reminds him of summers in Boston, the way he'd drift off to sleep listening to the soothing sounds of the window fan. Now that he thinks about it, the air is warm and humid, and he can feel a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. He hears the whining buzz of a mosquito in his ear and wants to slap it, but he manages to ignore it instead.

He takes a deep breath, drawing the air in through his nose. He smells something floral, but he was never good at identifying flowers by their scent. That had always been Maggie's party trick. Early in their marriage, he'd sometimes come home early from work. He'd sneak up behind her, put one hand over her eyes as the other held the flowers under her nose. Her success rate was around 90% although lilies always seemed to stump her.

Nate chides himself to focus as he draws another deep breath. He can smell something else, something achingly familiar and soothing, but he can't quite place it. He takes several minutes, breathing deeply, trying to pin down the smell as its identity dances just out of reach.

He hears the faint rustle of a page turning and realizes he isn't alone. A thin blade of panic forms inside him and he tries to quell it. _Easy. If they wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead, not holed up in some tropical luxury hide away. _

_Unless... they've already killed you and this is heaven, in which case, you're not going to lose anything by just opening your damn eyes._

But Nate keeps his eyes closed for several more minutes as he tries to formulate a plan, tries to imagine how the next few minutes could play out. He knows he has to make a break for it, somehow. Even though he doesn't know where he is.

If he could just look at his watch, figure out how many hours have passed, he might be able to extrapolate a list of possible locations. He shifts his weight, trying to find a natural, inconspicuous way to check his watch. Only his watch is gone. Take the watch, disorient the captive. That's what he would do.

_Okay then, plan B.....plan B.....plan B... gather some more intel._ Nate knows that he needs to figure out who else is in the room, then find a way to play them for information. Assuming, of course, that they speak English.

Nate listens careful, straining, to identify the general location of the other person. He lets his head fall to that side and slowly opens one eye, just a crack. The light surges in, nearly giving him a headache.

He can see hardwood floors, cheery yellow walls, and wicker furniture. Then he sees her, in front of the window, light flooding in behind her and washing out the details. But the elegant wave of dark hair, the jaunty set to her chin, the graceful lines of her crossed legs... they're all unmistakable.

"Sophie?"

---//---

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Written to try to satisfy lovesrogue36's prompt at leveragekink: 'Nate/Sophie, fugitives on the run.' Part two of three. Read part one here.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing here and am just doing this for fun and to pass the time until Season 3.

* * *

Nate watches as Sophie drops her book and covers the space between them in three long strides. She settles herself gently on the edge of the bed. The look on her face reminds him of the time he ran away from home when he was seven. When he returned hours later, sheepish and hungry, his mother had looked like she didn't know whether to smother him with hugs or slap him silly.

He's momentarily distracted as Sophie runs her hands over his face, her fingers cool and soft. Then he remembers that they need a plan.

"How did they get you too?" asks Nate, his voice rough with disuse. He struggles to sit up. Sophie presses on his chest, stronger than he ever gave her credit for. Maybe all that finding herself involved some time in a weight room.

"It's okay, Nate. Relax," she says, letting her eyes do most of the talking. But Nate knows that her eyes lie, so he listens to her tone, finally satisfied that everything is as she says, even if he can't figure out the how and the why of it just yet.

He lets out a breath and nods. Sophie smiles and takes her hands away, but he catches one and holds on tight. It's been far, far too long since he's been able to touch her, and he's going to try to make up for lost time, even if she's still looking at him like she might haul off and deck him.

"Can I get a drink, Sophie. Please?"

"Really Nate? Four months of drying out in federal prison and the first thing you ask for is a drink?" asks Sophie, disappointed, as she looks away.

"I was actually thinking about water," he says with a wry grin that causes her to blush.

"Right," she replies, suddenly all efficient and businesslike as she stands up, smooths her skirt, and then leaves the room through a door that's outside of his field of view.

Nate listens as the water runs and he looks around the room, finally taking it in. It's small, with slanted ceilings, probably an attic. The windows are large though, and covered with gauzy curtaons, a mixture of light and shade filtering in from the sun shining through the trees. It's like being inside a treehouse and Nate thinks of Robinson Crusoe.

Sophie returns and sets a glass on the doily-covered bedside table and then helps ease Nate up, settling him against the headboard. She hands him the glass and then sits down, putting noticeably more space between them this time. He drains the glass, grateful as the cool liquid slides down his dry throat.

He has so many things he wants to say, so many things that he wants to ask her and tell her. It's been months since that heady moment where he finally gave himself permission to kiss her, his head dizzy with blood loss and excitement and the feeling of finally, finally coming home. It had been even longer since he'd stood in her apartment, asking in his bumbling way, for her to come back.

But he can tell, by the way her hands are knotted in her lap and the way she looks at him, not quite in the eye, that she's not ready to hear any of it. And if he's honest with himself, which is all he's had the time and space to do for the last four months, he's probably not ready to say any of it yet.

Which leaves two questions: where and how.

"So, how did you guys do it then?" Nate asks, his voice nearly back to normal.

"It was Eliot's plan. And by the sounds and looks of things, it went pretty well, except that the goons he hired went a little crazy with the sedatives."

"Eliot hired goons?" asks Nate, a trace of amusement in his voice.

"Well, we all hired them, technically speaking, but Eliot knew the one guy, said we could trust them."

"And making it look like the triads?"

"Eliot's idea."

"It was a good one. And they certainly sold the bit. I was convinced. How long was I out?"

"It's Wednesday afternoon. They grabbed you Monday morning."

"Where's the rest of the team?"

"The rest of the team..." said Sophie, her voice trailing off and then returning with a tone that made him wince. "They're, well, you know. Busy."

"Sophie, I don't want to hear that voice," warned Nate.

"Sorry, Nate, bad habit. It's just that...well... Eliot felt that the plan will work best if there's only one guy running the show."

"I'm not that much of a control freak."

"Well, Nate, you sometime can be. All I can tell you is that freeing you was phase one. Phase two involves trapping Sterling and then making a deal with him to make sure that you remain a free man."

"No. Deals with Sterling are not a viable option. That man would trade away his own mother if he thought it would further his career. Sterling's an angles guy and he knows how to play them all." His fingers twitch as he thinks, tries to see the angles laid out in front of him, tries to picture it all like a giant three-dimensional puzzle.

"Nate!" Sophie's voice is sharp and it cuts across his thoughts, stopping him cold. "This is exactly what Eliot was afraid of. Just trust him. He's figured out a way to make the deal completely ironclad."

"And how did he do that? Is the devil involved?"

"Nate. Just trust him. Trust us. We've put a lot of time and money into this plan."

He nods slowly, wondering where the money came from.

"We had a bit of a whip-around, you know, chipped in to pay for the kidnapping... and other various expenses," says Sophie, answering the question even though Nate's 90% sure that he didn't ask it out loud.

"All of you?" asks Nate. "Even Parker?"

Sophie laughs. "Even Parker. And we didn't even have to drag it out of her, kicking and screaming. Although she did insist that if teeth were so important to Eliot, he should pay the dental work bonus."

"The dental work bonus?"

"A quarter of a million for each tooth."

Nate smiles and lets out a low, impressed whistle. "So one particular thug is at least half-a-million dollars richer."

"Hardison pulled the hospital records. Sterling actually lost three more. I think there might have been a little... piling on, after they pulled you out but before they all escaped," says Sophie, eyes twinkling.

"So my only other question is where the hell are we?"

Sophie smiles and looks around the cramped room. "Sorry, the quarters are a little tight, I know. This is a bed-and-breakfast, owned by an old acquaintance of mine, Gerard."

"In which country? State? City?" asks Nate, unable to hide his irritation. It's so like Sophie to give an answer that's technically true, but not useful information.

"Oh, right. Key West."

"Of course," replies Nate. "Key West. And the rest of the team is in?"

Sophie presses her lips together and shakes her head. Her hair curtains her face and Nate resists the urge to reach out and brush it back. "Can't tell you that."

Nate groans and leans back against the headboard, letting a hand cover his eyes. He hasn't even been awake an hour and he's already itchy and impatient, wanting to know everything and be involved.

"You need to rest. Hardison's developed an elaborate system for using disposable pre-paid mobile chips and will be calling later this evening. You can talk to everyone then."

Nate felt like he should say something to Sophie, thank her and try to talk about what happened on the ship that day. But as he struggles to find the words, he drifts off to sleep.

---//---

Nate sleeps on and off for the better part of three days. He remembers a hazy conference call with the team, which mostly consisted of Hardison and Parker talking over each other while Eliot growled and grumbled in the background. He remembers catching glimpses of Sophie fussing over him, soothing him after a bad dream and bringing him water when he has a coughing fit.

He thinks he even remembers her sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his hand and murmuring about things being different and better this time. But he suspects that last one is a dream, because the way she's treating him when he's fully conscious is different, but not exactly better.

There's a stiffness to Sophie that he doesn't recognize. A whisper-thin barrier of formality and hesitation that never existed before, not even when he was married. He catches her nearly touching him, then smoothing the bedspread or tidying the room instead.

When he's finally able to get up and walk around without wincing or feeling dizzy, Sophie announces that it's time for him to dye his hair.

"No. I like my hair the way it is."

"Fugitive 101, Nate, you have to change your appearance. You'll have a shave, that'll help. And I'll trim some of this scruffiness, but you're going to need something more than that."

Nate shakes his head and folds his arms, all the while knowing that he's fighting a losing battle.

"Red or blonde?" she asks, picking up her purse.

"I'll go with you," he replies, standing up, eager to get some fresh air and see something other than a television screen or the four walls of his room.

"No, you won't. You can't go out, certainly not in the daylight."

He sighs and flops back down on the bed. "Fine. Surprise me then."

Sophie returns an hour later with a couple of mystery novels and two packages of blonde hair dye. At first Nate thinks that she's going to dye her hair too, which he thinks would be an awful idea, but they turn out to both be for him.

He follows her reluctantly into her bathroom, where she has an elegant claw-foot bathtub with a detachable shower head.

"I see who Gerard prefers. You definitely got the nicer room."

"Hush," says Sophie, distracted as she reads the directions on the box. Nate sits down on the floor, with his back to the tub, and waits until she's ready. When she turns on the water, he leans his neck back over the edge of the tub, surprised at how comfortable it turns out to be.

Without fuss or explanation, she washes his hair first. The way her nails rub small circles on his scalp makes him want to purr. She's perched on the edge of the tub, her long legs tucked up underneath her. It wouldn't take much, though, for him to just turn his head and land right in her lap, a thought that he struggles in vain to ignore as she rinses his hair, the water the perfect temperature.

The dye smells funny and Nate makes Sophie promise that she'll stop with just the one box. He doesn't think he can go through this all over again, even if he does relish the excuse it gives her to touch him.

After the dye is done setting, Sophie washes his hair again and then takes out the scissors. He sits still, a towel wrapped around his shoulders, as she works. The hair that falls around him looks foreign, too brash and bright. When she's done, she hands him a small mirror and he tries to hide his dismay. He looks like an investment banker whose midlife crisis has driven him to become a surfer boy.

"Looks... wow. Really nice work. Thanks, Sophie," he manages, his praise sincere in spirit since he does appreciate her effort and time, even if he dreads the results.

---//---

A week passes and they're still holed up in Gerard's attic. But t least it's summer in Key West, the off-season. When the place is empty, he can sit in the parlor or on the screened-in back porch. There's a big family reunion going on this weekend, though, so Gerard has guests and Nate grows resentful and tetchy at the 'room arrest' that Sophie is insisting on.

He's read every book she's brought for him and is sick of watching television. With the sloped ceilings and low clearances, he can barely get four paces in before he's forced to turn around. When Sophie brings him his lunch, he's about ready to snap.

"This has to stop, Sophie. I'm going crazy here," says Nate, ignoring the sandwich that she places on the table. He paces toward the window and pauses there, looking out at the small lizards running through the tree branches.

"Nate, just be patient. They'll all be gone on Monday afternoon and then we'll have the place to ourselves again."

"No, Sophie, it's not just that. Look, I got more exercise in prison, for God's sake," he says, turning around swiftly, surprised to find Sophie just inches from him. Her hand goes up to her necklace and she shuffles back a few steps. _You don't have to be a grifter to read the body language there._

She looks down and Nate can see that she's weighing options, considering doing something that she was explicitly told not to do. He slips his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels as he waits.

"All right, Nate. You can go out, after midnight. I won't be able to go with you though, Eliot was very clear that we're not to be seen together. He was also very clear that you were to stay in the room."

"What Eliot doesn't know can't hurt him," says Nate with a grin.

"It's not Eliot getting hurt that I'm worried about."

---//---

It's after midnight when Nate finally manages to get outside. His preference would have been to go for a jog, but Sophie vetoed that idea, saying it would draw attention. He's supposed to blend in, which, from the looks of the folks on Duvall Street, means that he should be lurching around barely sober.

He can smell the alcohol, can pick out different varieties the same way Maggie could identify flowers. He stands outside Smokey Joe's and inhales: a cheap domestic beer, a hoppy microbrew, a good old-fashioned stout, and a mid-shelf Scotch.

He's tempted. God is he tempted, but right now, he still has enough sense and self-control to resist that temptation. The scars from last time are just barely healed and the memory of how everything went spinning out of control is all too fresh. He's tempted, but he's still able to put one foot in front of the other and keep walking.

Nate ends up on a beach and he kicks off his shoes so he can walk in the surf, the moonless night leaving the water nearly opaque. It's as warm as bathwater and the sounds the waves make are reassuring, but Nate soon feels just as bored as he has in his room. Only here, on the beach, he feels lonely too.

If he's going to take these midnight walks, he'd rather they be with Sophie. If he's honest with himself, he'd rather be doing other things with her as well, but he can feel the distance between them, the reservation on her part.

He remembers a conversation they once had, how she'd tactfully told him he had to figure out how he felt about her. How she'd teasingly added not to take to long. Only he had. And then that whole fuckup with the Davids had happened. By the time he righted the ship, she was seeing someone else. And then she just disappeared, walked out the door on the pretense of finding herself.

Life. Maybe it was what happened when you were busy making other plans. Or maybe it was just something that would always get in the way, if you let it. Nate sighs and runs his hand through his hair before deciding that it's time to head back.

He finds Sophie waiting for him in his room, anxious and concerned. She throws her arms around him in a relieved hug, but he can tell by the way she pauses on her way in that she's actually sniffing for alcohol.

He pushes her away, annoyed. "You can trust me, Sophie."

Her eyes suggest that would be a mistake, and he wants to argue with her, to explain how he's changed, but he doesn't have the energy to deal with it right now.

"Leave," he says, his voice flat and eyes empty. It's not a request, and she walks out the door, hurt on her face.

---//---

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Written to try to satisfy lovesrogue36's prompt at leveragekink: 'Nate/Sophie, fugitives on the run.' Part three of three.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing here and am just doing this for fun and to pass the time until Season 3.

* * *

The next morning, Sophie invites him to have breakfast with her, a peace offering that he nearly feels churlish enough to refuse. But something about the way she asks through the door, tentative and uneasy, her feet making uncharacteristic shuffling noises, causes him to agree.

After he's cleaned up and dressed, he leaves his room and crosses the small landing to her door, which is open. Her room has an exit to the outside and she graciously welcomes him out onto her "veranda", a rather grand word for what is essentially a small wooden deck with a round table, sun umbrella, and two chairs.

The view more than makes up for it, since the house backs right out to the gulf. Nate can see the dock with a couple of speedboats and then nothing but blue, the water and sky meeting at an indeterminate point on the horizon.

"Yes, Gerard definitely prefers you. If I had any doubt, this," he says, gesturing across the deck to the water, "would certainly settle the matter."

"Oh Nate, don't be ridiculous," replies Sophie as she pours him a cup of coffee and hands him the sports section of the newspaper. Nate accepts both with a small smile.

Breakfast consists of fruit salad and bagels, but neither of them eats very much. Nate hides behind the newspaper, stealing glances at Sophie. She appears to be absorbed in a glossy gossip magazine, but he can't help noticing that she hasn't turned a single page in twenty minutes.

He lays the paper down on the table and takes a deep breath. "Soph, I'm sorry about yesterday."

She looks up, startled, and tries to wave the apology away with an airy laugh. "Nothing to apologize for."

"It was nice to get outside, but it wasn't so nice to be alone. Please come with me tonight."

Sophie puts her hand on her neck, like she's trying to work out a stiff muscle, and looks down. She's silent for several seconds and before she speaks, she lifts just her eyes to look at him through her hair. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. You're a fugitive, after all."

Now it's Nate's turn for a breezy wave and dismissive laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. Who's going to see me? And even if people do see me, who's going to recognize me with this fabulous haircut?"

"I might have an idea that will work. But I'm going to have to talk to Gerard first."

"Just to be clear, Soph, I don't want to hang out with Gerard."

She laughs a bit longer than the joke really warrants. "I'll take that under advisement. Meet me in my room this evening, around eight."

---//---

Nate steps into the boat uneasily. It feels like a child's bath toy and he's just grateful that the wind is light and the water is glassy calm. Sophie pilots the boat out around the edge of the island. In the gathering darkness, Nate can still make out the hulking buoy that marks that southernmost point in the United States.

"Ninety miles to Cuba," he says.

Sophie's eyes light up. "You want to go? I've got a couple of British passports in my purse."

Nate shakes his head, eyes wide at the thought of skipping along the open ocean in flimsy fiberglass. "No. I'm going to take a raincheck on that one."

Her voice takes on a tone that's equal parts comforting and teasing. "You're not comfortable in boats."

"No, not really. My father had several unsavory... associates. About the worst thing they could invite you on would've been a boat ride around Boston Harbor."

"And yet here you are."

"Here I am," he confirms, holding his arms out.

"We'll stay close to land, then. You can swim, right?"

Nate smiles and nods as Sophie keeps the throttle low and guides the boat gently around the curve of the island. She finds a quiet spot, which he's pretty sure is just off of the beach he visited the night before. She turns off the engine and then walks to the middle of the boat, sitting down gracefully on the side. As he moves with considerably less grace to the back of the boat, Nate admires her comfort level.

He sits down on the back bench, near enough to Sophie to reach out and touch her, but far enough away that he doesn't feel like he's crowding her. He watches her as she looks out over the water. The silence stretches between them, more wall than blanket.

"What happened to us, Sophie?" he finally asks, his voice a whisper that nearly gets lost in the wind. She leans toward him, like she's trying to catch his words before they float away.

"I don't know, Nate. Was there ever even an us?"

A spike of anger shoots through him, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. He's not going to fall into one of her traps. He's not going to let her avoid the issues.

"We're friends, Sophie. Always. So it doesn't make sense why everything is so strained between us now."

She gives a bitter laugh. "We're stranded here, living out of two rooms. You're caged like a tiger at the zoo. The strain, the problems, they make perfect sense."

"No. It's more than that, and you know it. C'mon, Sophie. Talk to me. Please?"

She sighs and runs her fingers through her hair. A breeze blows, ruffling the loose skirt of her floral-print sundress. She wraps her arms around herself and turns away.

Nate has long since learned that how Sophie says something is as important as what she says. So he closes his eyes and waits, the rocking of the boat and absolute darkness behind his eyelids combine to create the odd sensation that he's floating in space.

When Sophie finally speaks, it takes him by surprise. Her voice is open and nearly raw, a quality he's never heard before. Whatever her "real" name is, Nate has no doubt that she's giving him the first glimpse of her true self.

"Right before I left, I felt so... lost and vulnerable. And there you were, my friend, offering your support. But you still had this giant hole in your heart, this great aching need. The pull of it, Nate, it was like a giant bloody black hole. There was no way I would've been able to resist. It would've been too easy to climb in there and lose myself."

"Except for the losing yourself part, it doesn't sound so bad," says Nate, reaching out to put a gentle hand on the small of her back, as if he could guide her through this conversation.

"It would've been a disaster. You weren't ready for that kind of relationship."

"And now?"

"Now? I'm still trying to figure that out. Which is difficult when you're so close all day."

"I can... we can figure something out, some other arrangement."

She shakes her head. "Oh no, I'm not dealing with the wrath of Eliot. His instructions were crystal clear."

"Are you sure?"

She nods. "It's not space that I'm looking for, Nate. It's more like... patience."

"Then you've got it," he says, sitting back and folding his arms behind his head, looking much more relaxed than he actually feels. "Just, you know, don't take too long."

She manages a weak smile, and he knows he hasn't pulled off the line with the same flirty, carefree manner that she would have managed.

---//---

For two weeks, Nate and Sophie move around each other carefully, even as the atmosphere between them warms. It's comfortable, at least, and Nate no longer feels like he's handling cut glass when he's dealing with her.

One rainy afternoon, they raid Gerard's hall closet, carrying away a box of classic DVDs and another box of old board games. They fall into an easy routine of afternoons playing board games and evenings watching old movies. Nate catches himself feeling like he's part of a couple and he has to remind himself that nothing's been decided yet. By either of them.

---//---

They're playing Scrabble on Sophie's veranda when her phone rings. She answers with a frown, relaxing slightly when the caller starts talking.

"Parker," Sophie says after several seconds. "I can't talk to you until you're calm."

She sets the phone on the table, and Nate can hear a non-stop stream of words that sounds tinny and indignant. He doubts that Parker is even managing to breathe and wonders what's got her so wound up.

Sophie smiles wickedly and lays down her word, kumquats, earning 119 points. Nate winces a little as he watches his thin lead evaporate in a triple-word-score puff of smoke. The game is nearly over, only a few tiles rattling around in the bottom of the purple velvet bag.

"Nicely played," he says as Sophie adds up the score.

Sophie picks up the phone. "Parker? Are you ready to listen? Parker... Eliot is not going to run off and settle down and have kids with Mikel Diane. How do I know? Because it's Eliot. that's how I know."

Nate smiles as he watches a disconcerted look flit across Sophie's face. "Parker, I thought we talked about privacy. Just because you can pick a lock, doesn't mean that you should."

He hides his grin behind his hand and busies himself, making a show of arranging the letters on his stand. It's a meager allotment, really, but he co-opts a word already on the board to create archtypical, which manages to put a dent in her lead, but the damage is probably already done.

Sophie ends the conversation and then puts the phone down on the table. When she looks up from her letters, Nate asks, "Parker?"

"Is insane," finishes Sophie. "Same as always."

"I miss them," says Nate, surprising himself when the sentiment slips out so naturally. It's a fact, plain and bold, and admitting it takes nothing out of him.

"So do I," says Sophie, matching his smile. For better or worse, as fucked up as they sometimes could, the team truly is his family. And Nate finds that he's just fine with that. More than fine, in fact.

---//---

Another week passes, and Nate finds himself growing impatient. He knows Sophie only asked for patience, but he keeps waiting for something, anything to indicate that she's made up her mind. But all he gets are lingering looks and light touches, which are nice when they're happening but are gone so fast, they seem more like wishful thinking than actual events.

Worse, Nate can sense that Sophie is growing bored and edgy. He hopes that it's just a reaction to the situation, but he fears it's a reaction to being with him. When she snaps at him to take his turn during a game of Risk, Nate knows that something's going to have to change.

"You know, Sophie, you don't seem very... happy... these days. Maybe you want to go to Miami, shop for shoes or something," he says, just before he launches an attack on Spain.

Sophie nods slowly with a look he can't quite decipher. "Or something. That might not be such a bad idea."

---//---

The next afternoon, Nate knocks on Sophie's door, looking forward to a game of Monopoly. She shouts to him that the door is open, so he turns the handle and pushes, tentatively stepping into the room. He knows something is up, even before he sees her. Something in her tone tells him that he's about to be made unhappy.

Sophie is in the bathroom, putting in a pair of small gold hoop earrings. She shakes her hair out, smiling in satisfaction as it falls exactly as she intended, then she starts touching up her makeup. Nate leans against the doorframe, momentarily admiring her turquoise dress with a kicky knee-length skirt, detailed embroidery at the waist, and a haltertie neck.

He finds his fingers itching, wanting to pull loose the black ribbon, feel the rough cotton of the dress and then the smooth silk of her skin. It takes him a few seconds to realize that Sophie is talking to him.

"You didn't hear a word I just said," she accuses, then puts on lipstick. Like that's going to help with his distraction level.

Nate shakes his head and looks down, trying to focus. He looks up and catches her eye in the mirror. "You look great."

"Thank you. So we'll be gone for the rest of the day, might even end up staying there, depending on how things go," says Sophie. She drops a small hairbrush in her purse and then leaves the bathroom, pushing gently past Nate as he stares dumbly after her.

"I'm sorry. We?"

"Yes, Nate, I told you," she replies, irritated. "Gerard's taking me dancing in Cuba. For old-time's sake."

"Oh."

"I have my mobile with me, you have the number in that pre-paid phone I got you last week. I'm also leaving you the team mobile, but only use it if there's some kind of emergency. Hardison is really touchy because we can only use each SIM card once. I've already put their number in it, just hit redial," says Sophie, moving through the room as she prepares to leave. Her efficient tone reminds him of how Maggie used to give instructions to the babysitter before she and Nate went out.

Nate puts a hand on the wall to steady himself, trying to figure out if there's anything he can say to keep her from leaving. She's at the door, his mind is blank, and then she's gone before he can even formulate a plan A.

---//---

Nate sits on the edge of Sophie's bed, staring at the team phone like it might burst into flames. He picks it up, moving the small piece of plastic through his fingers like a poker chip. Sighing, he presses the redial key and waits.

Eliot answers on the fourth ring, a gruff "Go" that makes Nate smile.

"I see your phone manners haven't improved any."

"Nope. What do you need, Nate?"

"Are you busy?"

"Sort of, but I have a few minutes. Probably. Hang on a sec.... Mikel, darlin', there's still one behind you."

"Never mind, Eliot, you're clearly busy. It was nothing."

"Which means it's something. Did something happen during one of your walks?"

"Sophie told you about the walks?"

Eliot laughs. "Sophie tells me shit. I know you both. You can't stand being cooped up, and she can't stand to see you unhappy."

"No, nothing happened. Nothing like that."

"Then what is it?" asks Eliot, managing, just barely, to make it sound like an invitation instead of a rebuke.

"Sophie... It's just everything. I don't know, Eliot. It's not like I thought it would be."

"Oh man, when Hardison finds out that you just burned a SIM card to get dating advice, he's gonna be pissed."

Nate can hear Hardison in the background. "Hell yeah, I'm pissed. Just sleep with the woman already," and then he can hear Parker chiming in her agreement.

"There's some advice for you, Nate, now if you could excuse me," says Eliot.

"Actually, Eliot, if you have another minute."

Eliot hesitates and then Nate can hear Hardison, insisting that's why God invented bluetooth headsets. A few rustles and beeps later, Eliot's back on the phone.

"OK, I'm back," Eliot says. Then Nate hears a low growl and a thud that he can only assume is Eliot punching someone. "So what's the problem? I know you don't have a policy about dating co-workers."

"How do you know that?"

"Maggie. Isn't that where you met?"

Nate tries not to let the background noises distract him, but it's difficult. Especially the last one, which sounded eerily like a lead pipe hitting flesh and bone. "I just... I guess... We could. It's just... what does it mean and then what happens next?"

"I don't know Nate," replies Eliot, the words coming in short bursts. "That's something you and Sophie would have to figure out."

"Yeah. Of course, of course," says Nate, like it's obvious even though it's anything but. "She asked for patience, while she figures things out."

"Typical," says Eliot, punctuating the word with a punch.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that she's rigged the rules. Kept the ball in her court, so she can't get hurt. You're going to have to make the first move here."

"But she said she needs time."

"How much time you got, Nate? Because she'll take all of it and then some," says Eliot. His words are followed by a cracking noise and then a girly scream.

"That wasn't Mikel Diane, was it?"

"No it was not," replies Eliot, a trace of a smirk in his words. "Look, Nate, she's just as scared as you are, if that's any comfort."

"Did she tell you that?"

"Not in so many words, but you two don't hold the patent for reading people. Hang on... What, Parker? Oh, there you go. She told Parker that she's scared."

"Interesting choice for a confidante."

"You're telling me. There's still something wrong with that girl. And she hates Mikel. It's getting to be a nightmare, trying to keep them apart. Yeah, Parker, I don't care if you can still hear me. I cannot wait until this job is done."

"Yeah, about that," says Nate."

"I'm saying nothing else about it. You take care of your to-do list. I'll take care of mine. Should be soon though, so... you know... don't take too long," says Eliot before he disconnects the call.

"Yeah, I've been hearing that a lot lately," says Nate to the dead line.

---//---

Nate is laying on Sophie's bed when he hears a boat pull into the dock. He glances at his watch and sees that it's nearly 5 am. The birds have been chattering for the last hour, but the sky is only beginning to lighten. Inside the room, it's dim, nearly gloomy, as Nate's had far too much time to stew in his own resentful thoughts.

Sophie opens the door with a giggle, tripping a little when her heel catches on the threshold.

"Did you have a nice time?" asks Nate as he sits up slowly, feeling a childish thrill when Sophie startles.

"Nate! I didn't see you there. You nearly gave me a heart attack," she replies, kicking off her shoes. She reaches out to turn on the bedside lamp, but he catches her wrist to stop her.

There's an edge, almost a menace, to how he's feeling, all these months and years of tension and frustration finally blowing to a full boil. He struggles to rein it in because he doesn't want to frighten her. One look in her eyes lets him know that so far, he's on the right side of that line.

Nate stands up and Sophie takes a step back toward the open door. Dim light filters in behind her and Nate's struck again by how beautiful she is, and how that bit of uncertainty in her eyes makes her all the more attractive.

"Are you okay, Nate?" she asks.

"Is it unfair to tell you that my patience is gone?"

"Is this because you're jealous of me going out with Gerard?" she asks with an incredulous laugh. "He's gay, you know. I'm not sure how you missed that detail; he practically shouts it from the rooftops."

Nate feels caught out, but he reminds himself that it's just another trap. Just another distraction. If they're talking about Gerard, then they're not talking about what's really important.

"No, this has nothing to do with Gerard or Cuba or dancing or anything else. This just has to do with you and me.... with the us we could be, if you let us," says Nate as he steps toward her, backing her up against the doorframe. He stops inches away from her, leaving just enough space for her to turn and shoulder him out of the way.

"Oh Nate, it's not going to work," says Sophie with a sigh, looking away.

"Why not?"

"Because... you're always going to be Nate Ford, honest man. And I'm always going to be a grifter."

"It's in your nature. As unalterable as your eye color or your blood type."

"Exactly."

"But can't you see, Sophie? The last two years, it's like we've met in the middle. It's not just what's in your nature, it's how you use it. Make enough different choices, and one day, you wake up and find that you're a different person."

"I don't think it works that way, Nate."

"It does. It did for me. And I think it has for you too. Because you're not just a grifter. You've never been just a grifter."

He shifts his weight forward now, leaning into her. He can smell the sea air on her skin and something else, something enticing, like pine and mint. Nate brushes his thumb along her jaw, slides his hand down her neck, and then gently traces the line of her collarbone. He keeps his eyes on her lips, watching as they twist and move, like she's having an entire conversation with herself.

He waits, a sudden reserve of patience appearing like rain in the desert. He can hear every breath and can nearly imagine her thoughts, hear her talking herself into it, then out of it, her indecision nearly making him dizzy.

His lips brush her cheek then come to rest near her ear. When he speaks, his words are a gruff whisper, all need and longing. "You can trust this, we'll figure it out together."

And then she falls into him, finally making her decision.

---//---

Nate wakes up hours later, tangled in the bed sheets. He's tempted to think that it was just a dream, but he can feel Sophie next to him, her skin soft and radiating heat. Her head is on his pillow and her hair tickles his chin when he shifts to look at her.

The team phone buzzes on the bedside table and he grabs it before it can disturb Sophie. It turns out to be a text from Eliot. Job done. Meet in Boston, 2 days, 4 debrief.

Yesterday, he would have been relieved, ecstatic even, to know that his time on the run had come to an end. Now though, with Sophie's arm wrapped tight around him, he wouldn't mind being a fugitive for at least a few more days.

/fin


End file.
